by Wall, Nathan
“Majestic, isn’t it?” Sif commented, her brown hair glancing off her silver shoulder plates. She looked up at the tall buildings. Her tears of joy were accentuated by her large smile.
Set rolled his eyes, but was careful to make sure no one noticed. Disguised behind his nonchalant eye roll, he glanced at her alluring features. Milky-white skin and dark eyes formed a compelling juxtaposition. His gaze moved down to her full lips, over her smooth neck, and stopped at her ample chest. He imagined the warmth of her bosom against his face as she cuddled him to sleep, but the thought vanished quickly when he remembered that her breasts had probably played host to Thor’s flesh hammer on many occasions. The possibility that there were remnants of little Thors crawling on her tits turned his stomach.
“Is something the matter?” Sif asked him, grabbing his elbow. “You look sick.”
“Only in my head,” he said with a smirk.
“Truer words,” Hermes interjected, drawing a chuckle from Set. “I’m sorry. I thought my words neither sarcastic nor funny.”
“They’re not,” Set laughed, grabbing his sides. “Just your whole attitude all these years. On one hand, I’ve nothing to hide. I’ve more than repented for my rebellion. I brought down my own Corner in service of Father’s will. On the other, you’re still keeping secrets, which is why you follow my lead. If you’d like that to change at any point during the course of existence, I’d suggest your attitude lead the way.”
“I’ve nothing to hide either.” Hermes stomped. His stark red hair stood straight as he became agitated. “I just don’t like you. Anyone who would deliver their own flesh to certain death, rather than try and negotiate for them a peaceful end, deserves none of my admiration.”
“I don’t require your admiration.” Set turned around and continued to walk backwards. He snapped his fingers at Hermes and whistled at him like a dog. “Just your unrelenting obedience. Now, hurry along boy, get back in line. We don’t want to be late.”
They came to a large wall. It was built from clouds and vapor though it carried the outline of a brick and mortar construct. Set held his fist up at a ninety degree angle. The other Assassins stood in place as he pressed his hand to the wall. Moving like a slow gel, the clouds enveloped his hand. A white light sliced through the wall and the form became rigid. His hand was released and the section in front of him split apart, opening a path for the three.
As they stepped through the opening to another side they couldn’t see, Set’s anxiety nearly got the best of him. His orders usually came via Michael’s carrier pigeons. He’d always assumed that the Archangels watched him work while they sat perched on a cloud, never having to dirty their hands. Maybe this would finally be the end of all that. Reality shifted around him and sucked him in through a portal of pink light.
“I know not how one manages to be both foolish and a bull-headed coward, but you accomplish the feat flawlessly. Action is required now.” Gabriel slammed his fist onto the table, standing up. His shoulders pointed forward at Michael, as if ready to lunge over the table and attack. “With every moment we hesitate, mull over plans and only discuss, we delay finding the lost souls who are promised a home and our protection.”
“You think he knows this not?” Raphael stood, his chair sliding backwards and toppling over. The veins in his biceps surged to the surface of his chocolate skin. “You don’t think the ramification of every little action weighs heavily on his heart?”
“I see only a shell of the leader who once commanded our respect.” Gabriel looked at Michael, sneering.
“You should hold your tongue.” Raphael glowered as his jaw grew tight. He walked towards Gabriel, who appeared more than happy to meet him halfway. Uriel and Chamuel stood between the two. “Who should we listen to, Gabriel? You? You’re not as heralded as you once were.”
“No one is closer to Father than me!” Gabriel yelled. Uriel struggled to pull him back, but his brother slipped through his grasp. Gabriel’s right hand clasped Raphael’s throat. “When have you ever heard Father’s voice?”
“When was the last time you did?” Raphael replied, squeezing out the words despite the hand at his throat. “He’s not spoken to you since John at Patmos. What use do you serve now? You’re no different than any of us.”
“Shut up,” Gabriel barked.
“Enough.” Michael’s voice halted the bickering. He leaned back in his chair, slouched, covering his face with his left hand. His dark locks were longer than usual, splayed out in all directions, helping to shield his eyes.
“So this is how the better half lives,” Set chuckled under his breath.
“There are several problems that need attending, and not all of them can be solved at once. None of them if we continue to tear ourselves apart.” Michael sat forward, moving to the edge of his seat, and leaned on the table. With a tired face, he looked at Gabriel, almost pleading. “You and I have not seen eye to eye for some time. I’ve long given up hope that my onetime closest ally would again open his heart to me, but I still expect us to do as required and protect those who count on us.”
“You mean believe in us?” Gabriel narrowed his eyes at Michael.
“Those two aren’t always the same,” Michael replied, slowly standing. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he inhaled. He looked over at Set and then towards Raphael. “Did you send for them?” he asked, meaning the Assassins.
“I did,” Gabriel said, pushing free of Uriel’s grip. “There are whole countries that are lost and need us, but they’ve had their chances. Our focus should be on our promised ones.”
“They’ll continue to have their chances until the seven years. For now we crawl, bleed and respond to their needs,” Michael said through his teeth, not bothering to look at Gabriel. “For someone who spent so long at Father’s side, you exhibit none of the patience, understanding and grace he had for his children.”
“No, I exhibit the harsh truths of his word, a line you once toed along with me.” Gabriel walked past Michael and over to Set and his two fellow Angel-Assassins. He swiveled around and looked back at Michael. “You can’t handle another war, and we both know the last one is still coming.”
“I can’t handle any more insolence...”
“I think you still sympathize with the old four Corners,” Gabriel interrupted him. “You’ve not been the same since their destruction.”
“Hardly a secret.” Michael shrugged.
Set did his best to not smile, biting the inside of his lip. Things were more desperate than he’d been told. Maybe the plan would work after all.
“When we decided that our role in the lives of humanity would be a more distant and quiet involvement, we agreed that it wasn’t in their best interest but ours. Having that sort of close relationship with mortals is what made the Corners weak and susceptible to the earthly lifestyle in the first place.” Gabriel looked at the other Archangels. Set was envious of Gabriel’s charisma and his ability to turn the argument his way. The first messenger stood on a chair. “There would be no more random acts of kindness. No more parting seas or moving mountains. No more raising the dead. Instead, our gifts and abilities were reserved for those who believed and then asked for help. I can’t seem to shake the feeling that Michael wants to change that.”
“You think this is better?” Michael shook his head, just about done with the whole debate. “You seem ready to pull the sword from existence.”
“Someone has disrupted the flow of souls, Michael.” Gabriel jumped from the chair and skipped toward his leader, but Raphael stood between them. Gabriel pointed at Set. “Why not send our best to track them down?”
“I was wondering if you had another world leader or rogue angel for me to hunt down,” Set laughed. “What about the terms of my service?”
“Shut it, assassin,” Raphael spat. “You will yet have a turn to speak.”
“Of course.” Set nodded with forced humility.
Michael waved the room silent, looking at his five fellow
Archangels. Though none of them showed their attitude as brashly as Gabriel, Set could tell they agreed with Father’s former top messenger. Uriel and Zedkiel looked at the floor. As former messengers themselves, they’d always follow Gabriel’s lead. Chamuel had a weary, long-faced look with his hazel eyes hidden behind his blonde hair. Raphael, once Michael’s most trusted Alpha Guardian and now fellow Archangel, nodded as he and their commander had a silent exchange with their eyes.
“I’ve not grown weak,” Michael said softly. “There’s no written guideline for these events. We move on faith alone. Without that we’re as lost as any of them.”
“No one’s saying you’re weak,” Uriel replied. His tan skin seemed pale in the midst of the in-fighting.
“I can’t help but feel like there was more to be done before the Last Great War. We’d already suffered so much. To lose four factions the way we did... I’m cautious that we don’t lose sight of what He really stands for,” Michael said to Gabriel. “You would know best his compassion.”
“I also know best his intolerance for repeat offenders. At some point, you are what you are.”
“We don’t know the plan. The words say that’s something He’s reserved for Himself.” Michael hunched forward, pressing his hands onto the table.
“I know those words,” Gabriel said, placing a hand to Michael’s shoulder. “I delivered them to the prophet myself. However, until we hear otherwise, we should carry on as we always have. And right now, those souls are missing. We must find and annihilate the one responsible for closing the gateway from Earth to Heaven.”
“And what if that was part of the design all along?” Michael looked at Gabriel, standing mere inches from him. “We could very well be starting the war before it’s time.”
They talked as if war was a foregone conclusion. Resignation to an outcome and doing little to prevent it was not divine craftsmanship; it was nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy. Set knew there was more than one way to snuff out the war before it even started. It would take slicing a few throats, but as long as they were the right throats then the desired outcome was more than possible. He found free will a thing of beauty, not burden. Unfortunately the others didn’t share this belief, so he kept quiet.
“I believe we’re divinely inspired. Not divine in and of ourselves, lest you think me prideful.” Gabriel sighed. The debate had seemed to age his spirit several celestial cycles. “If he guides our actions, how can we be wrong?”
“Does he guide all of our actions?” Raphael asked.
“We’re all here now, aren’t we?” Gabriel asked. “How could we be unless he willed it?”
Set knew that their silence in response to his questions said more about how lost they were than how much faith was left in the tank. If the Light of Souls was indeed thrown out of balance, then surely other falsities had come to light. Whether or not they knew how to look for them was another matter. One thing he was sure of: there were more secrets in the air. He could smell them. He may have never been a child, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like one, giddy on the inside. It was only a question of who they would blame when all the facts were laid on the table. Would it even come to that? It was hard to believe there was much left tethering the Archangels together. Getting everyone back on the same page to listen to truth and reason when so much denial and faith was clouding their judgment could prove to be an impossible task.
“What of Moscow?” Uriel asked. “It’s whole reason we summoned the Assassins to begin with.”
Finally, someone was bringing everything full circle. Set was dying to speak.
“Is it Azrael?” Raphael asked, glaring at Set. “Tell us.”
Set shook his head. “The coward Svarog wasn’t sure.” Hermes shifted in his seat, but his leader steadied him with a hand to the shoulder. “One thing was obvious. There are those now who worship the blue figure.”
“I told you Azrael should have been executed for his transgressions,” Gabriel growled at Michael. “Look at how your soft nature has burdened us once more.”
“That’s not everything, I understand,” Michael replied. Set’s head swung around as he stared at the lead angel. “Perhaps the first horseman rides.” The group squirmed at the thought. Set could sense the whispers of prophecy and rapture gripping their chests. “If indeed this is true, then the problem with the Light of Souls is of most importance.”
“Tell us more.” Gabriel took Michael by the wrist. Set was surprised Michael didn’t respond to the gesture with a sword.
“Come with me, brother,” Michael said softly to Gabriel. He then looked at Raphael. “Do as we discussed earlier.”
Raphael nodded. He pointed at the Assassins. “Wait at the table. I’ll return shortly.”
Set perched next to the round table. Boredom set in quickly as they waited. A large bowie knife spun on its tip in front of him, creating a sort of whistling noise as it drilled into the stainless steel table.
Hovering orbs provided a dim light, circling the table as if they were ticking around a clock. The powder white walls had soft green and blue undertones. The ceiling and floor were fully reflective.
To his left, Sif snored while slouched in a chair with her feet up on the table, crossed at the ankles. A large muted-yellow hood was draped over her eyes. Hermes paced nervously behind them.
“Why did you withhold information?” Hermes asked.
“Would you settle down? You’re beginning to irritate me.” Set snatched the blade. It disintegrated into a thousand particles of dust and merged together with his angelic armor. He looked over his shoulder, growling. “I said sit.”
“Fine.” Hermes stood in defiance, but only for a second. He took a seat next to Set and leaned close to whisper, “Why did they leave us? You think they’re watching, waiting to see what we’ll do?”
“I haven’t the foggiest.”
“We’ve done all they’ve asked for thousands of years. What could we possibly have left to prove?” Hermes asked.
“I don’t know.” Set raised his right eyebrow, staring holes into Hermes. This was as good a moment as any to pry. “What more could we have left to hide?”
“I wish for once you wouldn’t talk around the subject. You’re the one practically lying to the Archangels,” Hermes whispered, his fists tightening as he adjusted himself to a more offensive position. “You’ve been hinting at things ever since we were put together as a team. I wish you’d just say it.”
Hermes should have snitched about Set’s withholding details of their Moscow visit, but something had kept him quiet. It was either something Svarog had said or the fact that Hermes suspected Set knew his dirty secret. Possibly both.
“You expect me to believe the heir of Olympus is dead?” Set’s grin was menacing.
“I never said that.” Hermes looked away.
That was a lie. Set remembered the day Hermes took his oath swearing she was gone as if it had just occurred. What could he possibly have to gain by lying about it now? It wasn’t just a secret he was hiding. No, he must have been trying to divert attention away from something much bigger. It most definitely had to be something Svarog had talked about.
“You’ve never said much of anything.” Set rested his chin on his propped up left arm, attempting to trick Hermes into thinking his guard was down. “You were the child’s caretaker, were you not?”
“Why does that matter?” Hermes squinted.
“Could be nothing. Could be everything...”
Hermes lunged forward. A short knife manifested in his grip. He stabbed at Set’s chest but was stopped in his tracks when three blades slid from around Set’s wrist and hand. The two blades on the outside pressed against Hermes’ jaw line, stopping right under the ears, while the middle blade prodded underneath the jaw, poking at his soft tissue. Hermes froze in place.
“The point is, baby sitter, that child was the cause for a whole lot of bloodshed. She should not have existed...”
“And what about yo
ur own boy?” Hermes said through his teeth, unable to move his mouth.
“Like I said, I took care of everything,” Set replied calmly. “That was all independently verified, remember?”
“I’ve been with you long enough to know when you’re lying.” Hermes raised his empty hands in a show of surrender. The knife vanished.
“That goes both ways.” Set opened his fist and the blades slithered back into his armor. “Remember that.”
A door at the far end of the room swooshed open. Set knocked Sif’s feet off the table, waking her. Raphael marched into the chamber followed by Uriel, who stood at attention while Raphael sat across from Set.
“This is an unexpected.” Set sat up straight, pulling the chair forward and then folding his hands neatly on the table. He spoke to Raphael in a pompous tone. “Usually Gabriel or Michael handle these little conversations.”
“They’re preoccupied,” Uriel said.
“Quiet.” Raphael slightly turned his head, looking at Uriel with an irritated gaze.
“Still fighting like spoiled brats?” Set asked.
Raphael ignored Set’s sarcastic tone. “I am sure you heard what has us riled up, no?” He slid his right hand under his left forearm and removed a crystal several inches in length. Inside the crystal was a pink vapor which swirled and raged like a storm cloud. Raphael placed it in the middle of the table. The crystals were a way for the angels to rift undetected by others, but sometimes they contained private information not meant for prying ears. “The informant in Moscow was of no use? I assume you silenced him.”
“He didn’t tell us much about what you’d hoped, no.” Set grabbed the crystal and held it up to his eyes, studying the cloud. He glanced at Hermes, making sure he remained silent, and then looked at Raphael. “We let him live because he claimed to have been contacted by the missing Corners and others… including some descendants in the company of a female Angel-born.” Hermes squirmed and cleared his throat. Set turned and looked at his banner mate. “Am I forgetting something? You look pale.”